


with my head held high

by juliansweigl



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 13:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18575536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliansweigl/pseuds/juliansweigl
Summary: he takes another hard look at it, willing himself to wake up from the dream he’s so certain he must be in because he can’t quite believe that this is going to happen. He’s going to step onto the pitch wearing his married name on his back.





	with my head held high

**Author's Note:**

> 3,000 nervous, mental and emotional breakdowns has brought me to... well, this.
> 
> 4 things:
> 
> 1) yes, the title is from the climb and yes this song is very relevant  
> 2) this is based off A WONDERFUL, AMAZING DRAWING THAT YOU REALLY NEED TO SEE  
> [x](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/manuelmueller/184199106835)  
> 3) If it wasn't for Meggie, I would have abandoned this, so thank you for listening to me complain and be self-deprecating and annoying (honestly ajsjdk how do you put up with me???) and helping me with practically all of this and I hope it lives up to its expectation. You're the best!  
> (also thank u for letting me write this and i hope i didn't ruin it too much)  
> 4) I'm on a break in work and just started randomly crying thinking about this happening irl and even better - people are looking at me strangely (u didn't need to know that but)

He stares at it. Then stares at it some more. Blinks twice and rubs his hands over his face but it doesn’t change the name on the back of the jersey that’s staring back at him. It looks absurd, the name,  **Müller** stares back at him. Tilting his head to the side, the white letters shine a lot brighter and almost, almost reflect in the lights of the dressing room. Crossing his arms over his chest, his fingers flex as he tries to keep from reaching out and letting the pads of his fingers trace across the letters.

 

Ignoring how ridiculous he must look, Manu uncurls his arms and reaches forward, tentatively, scared as though the letters are going to unstick and float to the floor the moment he presses against them. He traces the M first, it doesn’t fall off -  _ good start _ \- he starts to trace the rest of the letters. Stepping back, he takes another hard look at it, willing himself to wake up from the dream he’s so certain he must be in because he can’t quite believe that this is going to happen. He’s going to step onto the pitch wearing his married name on his back.

 

A small but noticeable smile begins to twitch at the corners of his lips when he remembers the turn of the morning when he’d been sitting up and watching the sun come up, the house swimming in silence apart from the early morning traffic of reluctant workers heading out for another day and the odd bark of a dog coming from owners passing. Manu watched the way the sun reflected off windows, his own included, and thought about the day, thought about the game - thought about the way Thomas looked as he slept, sprawled under the blankets with his face half-buried in the pillows. It almost stopped Manu from getting up,  _ almost. _ He’s won a World Cup but the thought of stepping out onto the pitch wearing his married name, announcing in his own way that he’s married terrifies him yet also, he’s never been so sure, so confident about wanting to do anything before. It wasn’t until the sun had completely risen and Manu’s mug was empty that he had heard footsteps hitting the floor before long arms slid around his waist. Thomas didn’t greet him good morning, just held his husband close before turning his head so that his lips were grazing Manu’s ear. 

 

“ _ Maybe they won’t notice. _ ” 

 

Won’t notice. Manu humoured him, thinking about the possibility that seventy-five thousand people wouldn’t notice their captain wearing a jersey with a different name on the back and that he could get through the game without questions being asked and eyebrows being raised. It’s a pleasant thought, something he has been thinking about in the hours since. He knows it won’t be as simple as that, it never is, not for him anyhow. He can hear the hushed murmurs amongst chants now, imagine the commentary, the confusion, the  _ theories. _ Thomas has been enjoying himself for the last few days, as soon as the decision was made, he was the first to start coming up with whatever wild theories he assumed people would have during and after the game at the weekend.

 

Thomas slides up beside his husband and focuses on the jersey that’s hanging up. 

 

“It looks better than I thought.” He smirks, having been  _ seemingly  _ completely with ease from the second that this idea came into existence, “It looks good against the blue. God, why didn’t we do this years ago?” 

 

Manu glares at him, shooting him a look that could only say  _ you know why we didn’t do this years ago, idiot.  _ Thomas’ smirk turns into the fondest of smiles, of course he knows the reason why they hadn’t done this but he can’t help and certainly cannot resist the urge to tease his captain about all of this. 

 

“Don’t give me that look.” Thomas chastises with a beaming grin as he bumps his shoulder against Manu’s, reaching across to rub his thumb across his husband’s hand, feeling the cool metal of his wedding ring. “How are you feeling?” Thomas asks him, having carefully avoided asking him the question all morning, trying not to cause an eruption of feelings and insecurities and fears from tumbling out all at once. 

 

Manu offers a casual shrug in response before one word slips from his lips. “Ready.” 

 

There’s no wavering, no flashes of uncertainty, no shrinking away from the question or battling against an inner turmoil as Manu turns to Thomas and smiles at him. He doesn’t need to say anything else to that, they can both feel it, the readiness, the surety, it courses through their veins as does the blood that pumps around their body and their hearts  beat.

 

Thomas squeezes Manu’s hand, slipping his fingers through and intertwining them as he turns so that he is facing his husband. It’s eerily quiet, it’s the sole reason that Thomas is here anyway - Manu disappeared and Thomas  _ immediately  _ knew where he’d headed. Thomas doesn’t need to tell him that he stood by the door but out of sight for a few moments just watching his husband and the awestruck expression on his face. For a split second he wanted to turn around and leave him but he just couldn’t resist the overwhelming urge to tease him about it. To take away the significance of the day, to try and remind Manu that this isn’t  _ that  _ big of a deal - after all, he’s been a Müller for two years. To tell him that this is the logical next step. 

 

“Captain Müller has a ring to it, don’t you think?” Thomas wonders aloud,  

 

“You know you’re technically co-captain, right?” 

 

Thomas just grins a bashful grin. Manu rolls his eyes. Some things never change. 

 

***

 

Thomas’ loud cackle travels across the room a little after midday and Manu can’t help but steal a glance at his husband, catching the indignant huff from Mats and the ruthless slap to his shoulder that the defender gives him - only intensifying his laughter more (much to Mats’ chagrin).  

 

If asked, he’d say it was Thomas’ charm that drew Manu to him initially, his ability to sweet talk almost anybody, cheer up those who needed it, be a calming influence over his teammates, his sense of humour or, maybe it’s the way that Thomas looked at him when Manu wasn’t looking. Perhaps, just perhaps it was the subtle touches and the longing gazes when it felt like the background was sinking into nothingness leaving just the two of them in their own bubble. Their own world, a world in which neither of them focused on anything but each other, winding their arms around each other whilst pretending cameras weren’t on them, ignoring the confused yet curious glances of their teammates who they had managed to fool for the longest time. All of that seems a world away now.  

 

Manu laughs. Sven stops talking, raising his eyebrows at what suddenly has the keeper so amused but Manu waves a dismissive hand and trails off that he’s not laughing at him and gestures for him to continue. Sven hesitates before continuing on with whatever story he’d been in the middle of talking about when Manu’s train of thought rears off once more and he thinks about all the signs, the hints and the  _ falling.  _ The way Thomas’ eyes lit up whenever he saw Manu should have been a clear enough hint, all the signs that had been inadvertently ignored, how everything had finally fallen into place in Bordeaux. 

 

_ Bordeaux.  _

 

Manu’s memories of that night are hazy enough as it is, from the regulation ninety minutes to Jonas Hector’s match-winning penalty and everything in-between. It’s a blur of flags, chanting and being knocked sideways, forwards and in every single direction as teammates screamed incoherent nonsense into his ears for so long that his ears rang for hours afterwards. For every indistinguishable memory, there are two clear moments that stand out above the rest,  _ naturally. _

 

The rush of adrenaline, the feel of Thomas’ hand at the back of his head, pulling them closer until their foreheads knocked against each other (a pain that only registered several hours later when the headache that had been threatening for hours finally hit him out of nowhere), the way that Thomas had screamed something that had been drowned out by the crowd but most of all he remembers the way that their lips had brushed together. It had been so faint, something that could barely constitute a kiss but it had been enough that Manu could have ascended to the clouds if he’d felt so inclined. 

 

The desperation that followed in the empty dressing room, the way that Manu’s hands had twisted in Thomas’ shirt to the point where his fingers hurt, the way that Thomas had a steady grip on him, stopping him from pulling away but not enough to pull him closer. This kiss, well, there was no denying it was such a thing. All those weeks of dancing around each other, waiting for a moment,  _ the moment,  _ the right time to cross that line that had become blurry months ago. There had been no confusion in that moment, just a realisation that this was what was supposed to be, to follow an imaginary timeline that led to that moment, still high off a last-gasp win. It was supposed to come down to a moment when everything collides and slots into place - the same feeling of slotting the final puzzle piece into place on a jigsaw and completing the picture. 

 

If Manu had to describe how he felt during those moments afterwards, with his chest heaving as he tried to pull the oxygen back into his lungs, his lips parted and a dumb, lovestruck grin on his lips that he was no longer afraid of hiding. It felt like coming up for air after a lifetime under water. Like feeling the first drops of water on your tongue after wandering a desert for never-ending miles. It’s like coming home, like fireworks and a night of celebration and like sliding under a hot shower spray after a walk out in the bitter cold of winter. 

 

***

 

It doesn’t feel as strange as Manu imagined, pulling the jersey on despite having the knowledge that Müller is gracing the back of it. He feels serene, surprisingly calm about the entire ordeal. In fact, a small but excited shiver runs from the top of his spine to the base as he drops his gaze to the floor, fighting back a small smile as he thinks about how proud he feels at this exact moment. Gone are the days of being ashamed, _terrified_ of who he is, it might not have been the longest battle of his life but it’s been the toughest fight - fighting against himself to embrace who he is.

 

It’s almost laughable, thinking back to a time when he was terrified of a day like this becoming a reality. The thought of his secret becoming discovered paralyzed him out of sheer fear and that fear plagued his thoughts as he thought he wouldn’t be deemed captain material anymore, that he would lose every ounce of respect he had as skipper because of his personal life - or choices.  _ Choices,  _ Manu almost scoffs at the word but bites it down and instead focuses on the armband that he’s spinning around his hand, his thumb brushes over the material as the dressing room continues to come to life under the anticipation and excited buzzing of another game. 

 

The feeling of the unknown is what scares him the most, this sport is unforgiving at the best of times and the chants from the stands, the handful of supporters who are unrelenting and harsh and don’t understand or choose to ignore the consequences of their actions. He knows it’s too much to ask for this to be a smooth transition, he’s no fool - the reaction, the ongoing feelings towards him because of comments he made back when he was younger, a hint of negligence weaved through the words he said, words that are still imprinted in his brain but that he understands in different ways. Maybe he was slightly naive when he said what he did - all in good nature, but if he knew now what he knew back then, perhaps, just perhaps, his words would have been different. 

 

It’s taken him years of self-acceptance and the struggles that came with that to finally be at this point. To be at the point where’s he essentially ready to walk out onto his home pitch and say ‘fuck it’ to anybody who dares to hurl insults in his direction, to smirk at the disgusted looks that are bound to be sent his way. To stand on his goal line where he’s stood for almost a decade, where he’d cried and laughed with his husband in front of him, exchanging glances with him – his best friend, his co-captain, the love of his  _ goddamn _ life.

 

Manu hears Thomas before he sees him. He can recognise his footsteps on any surface of ground, he has a certain twinkle-toedness to how he walks and Thomas loves to use it to his advantage to sneak up on Manu and scare the shit out of him whenever the opportunity arises. Thomas kneels down, wobbling slightly as his hand brushes against his husband’s, he smiles almost goofily as he presses his thumb against the back of Manu’s hand, half holding it. 

 

“Give it here.” Thomas’ voice cuts through the blaring noise that’s resonating off the walls of the dressing room, holding his other hand out for the armband in his husband’s hand.

 

“I’m quite capable of putting it on, you know.” Manu retorts, lips quirking upwards into a smile but he hands the armband over without much more of an argument 

 

Thomas snickers slightly as he stretches the armband in his hand, gaze flickering up to Manu as his laughter fades and he’s just left with that dumb, lovestruck smile twitching  at the corners of his lips as Manu drops his gaze to Thomas’ lips. 

 

“I’m trying to be romantic.” Thomas huffs

 

Manu snorts. “Okay,” 

 

Manu flexes his fingers before stretching his arm out straight and allowing Thomas to slide the armband up his arm until it’s resting comfortably on his bicep but that doesn’t mean Thomas pulls his hand away, his long fingers curling around Manu’s bicep and letting his fingers twist in the sleeve of Manu’s jersey.

 

“How are you feeling… now?” Thomas asks tentatively, knowing that kickoff is fast approaching and knowing that the impending game could easily strike a nerve and Thomas isn’t sure how either of them are going to react once they leave the sanctuary that is the dressing room. “I know you’re going to roll your eyes so-”

 

“I wasn’t.” Manu interjects with a swift shake of his head. “I’m fine, though. I am.” He insists, pressing his nails into the palm of his free hand, eyes blinking rapidly before they focus on those mismatched eyes that he fell in love with a long time before he realised what it all meant, and he frowns, forcing the question out, not knowing whether he wants to know the answer or not. “ _ Are you? _ ” 

 

Thomas hesitates upon answering, face contorting into a mixture of something between apprehension and confusion. The longer it takes for Thomas to answer, the more of a sinking feeling begins to settle in Manu’s stomach - he’s talked himself into it for the last few weeks, so much so, that on the outside it doesn’t seem like as big of a deal anymore but if Thomas is here and showing even just a single sign of doubt about what they’re going to do - Manu feels like he might throw up. 

 

But then, then Thomas is smiling at him so warm and radiant and his eyes are crinkling at the corners and Manu’s heart feels like it might just soar into the heavens. Thomas is brushing his thumb over Manu’s knuckles so carefully, so feathery that it doesn’t feel like he’s doing it at all and he’s leaning up so that their foreheads are pressed together. 

 

He doesn’t actually need to answer Manu’s question but he does anyway though not exactly. “I love you.” Is what he actually says.

 

Manu can interpret those words in so many different ways, or he could just accept the reminder that his husband loves him. He thinks about it and lets his mind wander, times of days and years gone by when Thomas throws out an  _ I love you  _ randomly, something he’s never been shy of - telling Manu that he loves him. Those three words fall from his lips as though they’re a greeting of some kind, he hears them in the morning when he’s barely awake and can offer no more than a sleepy grumble in response or when he’s falling asleep and feels Thomas’ lips pressing against his hair. He hears them when he’s cooking dinner or when he looks over to find Thomas already looking at him - it should be annoying but despite never outwardly admitting it, it’s something that Manu enjoys. They’re a reassurance, a reminder, something that Manu never thought he’d hear and believe but that was a long time ago. 

 

Manu smiles, unable to stop himself. “I know,” 

 

Thomas’ smile gets wider as he staggers to his feet and pulls at the hem of his jersey, Manu steals one last glance before he makes a move to grab his gloves. 

 

This is it. There’s no more hiding anymore. Manu gets to his feet and pulls his gloves on one by one, glancing upwards, a stern expression on his face, lips pressed into a thin line as he tightens the straps, loosens them and tightens them again - mainly to give his hands something to do for the next couple of minutes. 

 

_ Deep breath. Just breathe. Don’t think about the implications. Just breathe. Thomas is right there.  _

 

Thomas, noticing the way that Manu’s fingers are pressed against the strap of his glove, worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches the blank expression on his  husband’s face in concern. Manu feels eyes on him and snaps his head upwards, smiling when he sees Thomas watching him - ignoring the obvious distress on his face. 

 

Manu tightens the straps to his gloves one final time before getting himself ready for a rousing few words of encouragement to his teammates which are met with raucous cheers and a rally cry. Mats and Joshua send Thomas and Manu supportive smiles on their way out to the tunnel before Thomas reaches and stops at his husband’s side. 

 

Thomas lifts his hand to rest at the back of Manu’s neck, turning him around so that they’re facing each other, their breathing and the rise and fall of their chests is the only thing that either of them notice. There are so many words that both of them want to say but they’re stuck in their throats, heavy on the tips of their tongue and some are just reassuring repeats of what they have told each other over the last few days. Some things are better left unsaid, some things don’t need saying, they both know anyway. 

 

“ _ Boys _ .” Mats sing-songs from where he’s appeared in the doorway, a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. “We request the presence of our captain  _ and  _ co-captain  _ sometime  _ before kickoff.” 

 

Just like that, the tension is broken between them all - Thomas would later admit that he’s grateful for Mats’ interruption - something he immediately regrets when the smug grin makes an appearance. 

 

Thomas and Manu line up in the tunnel, the noise of the crowd is deafening even before they get out there and Thomas leans closer, twisting his hand until he can hook his pinky around Manu’s, it’s awkward because of his glove but it’s manageable and they stay like that for a few minutes longer than usual. 

 

“Good luck?” Manu inquires, it’s been a long time since he’s questioned the significance of their pre-match ritual. 

 

“Yeah.” Thomas breathes out, dragging the pad of his pinky across the glove, “but not for the game. You don’t need it.” 

 

Their hearts beat out of their chests as they exchange small glances and even smaller smiles, reassuring yet excited, scared yet ready, hopeful yet realistic. The nervous energy courses through their veins. Thomas squeezes his pinky around Manu’s even tighter as he leans up, lips brushing against his husband’s ear.

 

“They could just think you wanted to change your name to match that of your favourite Bayern player.” He whispers, conspiratorially, and it’s ridiculous but he’s not actually wrong. 

 

Manu tries and ultimately fails to suppress his laughter and throws his head back, nearly knocking against Thomas’ head in the process. Thomas watches him, watches the free-spiritedness of his husband, sees the frown lines disappear and the wrinkles vanish from his forehead as he visibly relaxes, shoulders untensing. 

 

“You’re an idiot.” 

 

Thomas just shrugs and unhooks his pinky from Manu’s, lining up and hearing the crowd get roudier outside, the time comes and they’re walking out into the sunshine, and just for a second, Manu’s breath catches.

 

It’s as if he can feel the glances, the whispers, as if he he can feel everyone pause and stare. He shakes his head, almost stubbornly.

 

It doesn’t matter. What matters is his husband walking just a few steps behind him and the turf under his boots. What matters is the game and the fact that he’s in love and shouldn’t be afraid of combining the two.

 

And now, well. He’s not exactly shouting it from rooftops. But when he pictures how the camera must be zooming in on his back, his name and Thomas’ – the same name – side by side, a smile tugs at his lips.

 

It comes pretty damn close.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr!](https://hoewedeshummels.tumblr.com)


End file.
